on the theory of the universe
by nefelokokkygia
Summary: existence is a rainbow looped 'round, where all is nothing is everything in-between and where beginning meets end is nowhere to be found. england/fem!england. kink meme de-anon.


kink meme de-anon; prompt was 'het pairing, sex as part of a religious/magic ritual'; being the paganism/wicca/general mystical cool stuff geek that I am, I had to write this, especially since it asked for het. assumes england and his feminine counterpart are teenagers/young adults at the time, and throws in just enough historical background to make it seem like something mildly plausible and not just made up out of thin air; takes place sometime in the late 6th century, mixes in/modeled after a few different paganistic belief systems, with some wicca and arthurian legend thrown in with a pinch of my own original content for kicks; also heavily influenced and inspired by neale donald walsch's _conversations with god _trilogy (read it!).

* * *

><p><em>(one is all, all is one, unto forever and ever<em>

a territory is a country is a nation - the bordered land of a continent that gives rise to provinces like puzzle pieces, where all come together like patches in a quilt, a coat of many colors that embraces the earth but all are cut from the same cloth.

(territory is their cloth, gradient their borders, hue their people; the earth is the spectrum in every range, a rainbow looped 'round and where beginning meets end is nowhere to be found)

the spirit of a nation is its people, one but all, the same but different, separate but equal; their common denominator is humanity of the highest degree, the unalienable right, the essence of their spirit. spirit sheltered by the earth and built from the ground up, because 'two or more gathered in name' is so much more than holy ground.

like a territory, a country, a nation.

and this is what they are.

_world without end _

they are Nations; manifestations, incarnations, they are the collective existence of their people and the word made flesh to dwell among them. they are revered, exalted, one with their people because they _are_their people; born of the essence of the earth and the spirit of their nation, willed to life by the united mind of their culture. they are Thought made Word made Flesh, the holy trinity to and of their kind, born of the altar of the earth and the offering of mankind unto himself.

a Nation is the imprint of their people, a footstep made and left behind even if their civilization falls, an immortal energy neither created nor destroyed, never to die but only changed in form; memories carried within spirit and essence, because that is what memories are, imprints upon energy born again and again in a never-ending circle.

(the world may forget names, faces, impacts, the fact that _no longer_ does not mean _never was_- the earth does not.)

_as it was, as it is now, as it ever shall be, world without end._

_amen.)_

* * *

><p><em>i.<em>

the sun shines glittering gold on the hills of _Searesbyrig_, the sky run red and violet with the coming of twilight. a warm breeze tickles like feathers through the trees and the licks of bonfire and spark floating in the air, laying down the grass with a mother's touch before it stands firm again. cheerful yelling and laughing wafts around the hills and dives through the leaves, and england can't help but smile at the reverie as it brushes against his cheek before bounding off into the sunset.

it is the eve of _l__á belltaine_, merry and drunken and blessed, exactly as it should be.

(he can hear his people celebrating the land, the year, _life_, pagan gods or christian gods be damned this is all _lá belltaine_has ever been and ever will be and he would have it no other way)

he is naked beneath the long, black cloak he holds closed against the breeze, mind wandering to the celebrations not unlike the ceremonies he will participate in at the coming of the dawn. _stanheng _stands tall in the distance, the sun sinking down down gone again amongst the rocks as if the father earth were swallowing it up, offering it haven as the mother moon made her round of the sky to guide mankind through the night.

england knows it is like his people and their deities, the great mother following the horned god following the great mother in turn and mankind are the stars, guiding each other and guided by their god and goddess in a circle drawn 'round where begining meets end is nowhere to be found.

_(they are one, they are all, they are everything and nothing with a little to spare, merry meet and merry part and merry meet again, blessed be always and in all ways, unto forever and ever, amen)_

he hears their chanting and singing, bright with fire and dark with the setting sun, and he whispers along with them in their glory.

'this _belltaine_ eve as I burn, year wheel take another turn. fire flame and fire bright, bless us on this _belltaine _night.'

* * *

><p><em>ii.<em>

long fingers run through ashen hair, water-drenched with ritual oils and herbs and petals from her people's sacred flora. the mud and silt beneath her feet is soft and yielding to her weight as she moves in time with the earth, body purified holy on the eve of their most sacred celebration. the priestesses have brought her to the river avon each sunrise and sunset for three days in preparation for _lá belltaine_, and she is duty-bound and ever-willing to draw down the great mother for her people.

(she will be their triple goddess in rawest form and plainest sight, a trinity of life death rebirth in a duality both human and divine in a singularity that is one and and all and everything in-between)

the priestesses have finished with her hair and her body and offer her cloth to dry the river from her skin, enshrouding her in a cloak to shield her nakedness from the evening breeze. britānnia murmurs a quiet _'Ic ēow þancas dō'_ as she holds the white fabric closed, and lets the holy women lead the way back to the shelters at _stanheng_. grass and dirt and pebbles tickle and rub across her feet, bare at her insistence that she remain as natural to the earth as possible in the ritual-filled hours leading up to _lá belltaine_.

the sun has sunk nearly below the horizon as they reach _stanheng_, the sky lit up by hundreds of stars and tongues of flame from the celebratory bonfires encircling the ancient structure. she wipes the earth from her feet before she is led inside one of the small wooden shelters, where she kneels before an icon of her people's great mother. cloth runs through her hair once more to dry the last of the river still clinging to it before the chore is left to the sacred fire burning before the icon, surrounded by stone and dirt to keep it contained.

the soft fabrics beneath britānnia are welcoming her to sleep, and she knows she will be awoken at sunrise to bathe one last time before she is adorned as the vessel for the great mother. but prayer and a bowl of herbs and berries and bread stand between her and rest, but she welcomes both with open arms like she would one of her people, because these rituals are of her people just as she is and she can, will, would have it no other way.

the food washes away her hunger, her prayers for fertile lands and bodies and lives are offered to the triple goddess in turn, and she is finally allowed sleep. she whispers one last prayer in time with the singing and cheering of her people outside, before letting her eyes close and the moon-crowned goddess lead her to dreams.

'this _belltaine_ eve as I burn, year wheel take another turn. fire flame and fire bright, bless us on this _belltaine _night.'

* * *

><p><em>iii.<em>

the stars have only just begun to melt into the sunrise when england is awoken by the priests, the down of pillow and cloth soft against his cheek. the first thing he notices is that everything is still and quiet, the celebratory fires of the evening before long burned out as his people await their revival this night.

it is sunrise on the morning of _lá belltaine_. he dons the night-colored cloak once more as he is led to the river avon, where he will bathe one last time before being transformed into the vessel for the horned god of his people.

(he will be the avatar of their creator as he is the avatar of their existence, because no matter the deities his people or another's believe in all of them are lights on separate roads that will all meet joined in the end)

fingers work gently at his hair as his body is lathered with ritual herbs and oils for the final time, cleansing him sacred in body and mind and spirit. the water is cool on his skin and he shivers when it is poured over his head to wash away the remnants of the holy flora. taking a breath, he draws himself down unto to the water like he will draw down the horned god at nightfall, and he lets the river play with his hair and dance across his skin until he runs out of breath and surfaces.

_'Ic ēow þancas dō'_ are the only words spoken as england accepts the offered expanse of cloth to wipe his body of the river, and the priests shroud him in the black cloak once again. they lead him back to the shelters at _stanheng _like they have done for 3 days prior, and when he is ushered into the shelter reserved for him, the shamans and priests waste no time in preparing him.

england is lathered in lotion and oil that makes his skin newborn-soft, and his hair made to stand fluffed and proud in a mane like the creatures of legend. his eyes are lined black and his cheekbones painted dark with silver and the night-colors of the horned god, and they clothe him in jewels and blacks and blues and browns and the colors of the earth.

the horned headdress is the last thing to adorn him, small enough that he can wear it through all of _lá belltaine _but large enough to make him a fierce effigy of his people's god.

_(not quite human but not quite divine and forever somewhere in-between)_

physical transformation complete, england is led out to the rocks of _stanheng_ where _lá belltaine_ will soon begin.

* * *

><p><em>iv.<em>

fingers run through her damp hair to untangle any knots, and britānnia is still as the priestesses prepare her body, scented with oils and lotion in reverence to the goddess who will soon occupy it.

her long, flaxen hair is plaited and braided to frame her face, the rest left straight and long like the mane of a mare. flowers and leaves of the oak and yew and holly and other flora her people hold dear are woven into the strands until a circle of them crown her head. her eyes are lined dark and painted bright like the emerald of her irises, bright like her fields of green and gold. the priestesses flush her cheekbones with purest white and deepest amber, the colors of her people's goddess. her jewels and robes and cloak are the colors of the moon and stars, silver and white and gold and all things ethereal.

when they crown her with the headress of the great mother, a full moon between two halves, she looks into the polished metal mirror and is unsure if what she sees is human or divine.

_(she is not and never will be human, a nation is not inherently human but is made from and of them and as an avatar she will be the closest median she can)_

but no law of the universe has ever laid down that human and divine couldn't be the same damn thing, and it is this thought britānnia carries to the sacred stones of _stanheng_, the anticipation of _lá belltaine_ hovering silently in the air.

* * *

><p><em>v.<em>

england and britānnia stand next to each other, each adorned in the likeness of the god and goddess, and face the congregation within _stanheng_.

_(two halves of the same whole light dark black white male female all one)_

the sun is already beginning to wane in the sky, dipping towards the western horizon like a drop of fiery rain, and all eyes are on they and the priests and priestesses and the great stone altar the sun will come to sink beneath. gathered 'round are females adorned in flower crowns and jewels and males with wild manes and painted cheeks; they wait with baited breath, murmurs of prayer and song passing around the circle as they are taken up to spark the air and flicker and settle between ears and minds.

as avatars of their people's deities, england and britānnia lead _lá belltaine _in conjunction with the priests and priestesses, because there is no greater or lesser but only different.

(separate but equal and they are priest and priestess and human and divine like any and all gathered within the ancient stones)

_lá belltaine_ begins with the fivefold kiss between the not-humans who will be gods, voices melding together in honor of the body and the pentagram and the five elements that bring their creation full circle.

_(blessed be thy feet, that have brought thee in these ways)_

britānnia kneels to the ground, folding her hands in a triangle on the slab of stone upon which they stand, and presses a kiss to the space between them, his feet hidden beneath the long ceremonial robes. england does the same to her in turn, and both of them can feel the magick of the ancient rocks slowly stirring beneath them.

_(blessed be thy knees, that shall kneel at the sacred altar)_

still kneeling before her, england touches his fingertips to her knees, pressing a kiss to the cloth between them. she reciprocates in turn, ancient powers far older than both of them lapping like water at their feet.

_(blessed be thy phallus, without which we would not be)_

a kiss to cloth, the energy stirs once more-

_(blessed be they womb, without which we would not be)_

his lips meet fabric, the magick flickers and sparks

_(blessed be thy breast, formed in strength)_

her kiss above his beating heart

_(blessed be thy breasts, formed in beauty)_

the thunder in his lips and the air around them is more than the crackle of spark in their ears

_(blessed be thy lips, that shall utter the sacred names)_

england's hand snakes behind her head, fingers locking in her hair as britānnia's grip on his wild mane tightens, mouths locking and they understand all over again why the fivefold kiss is so sacred, so powerful, so much more than the back and forth pushpullshove of repetition like breath and it is as if the forces of the universe have collided in their teeth and hearts and loins and knees and toes-

(the both of them feel the magick flutter their robes and cloaks as the sky comes crashing down around them, their lips part, the end of one journey to begin another anew)

the priests and priestesses and the lay take up their low chant and quiet song, the beat of their hearts aligns with the beat of the drums and the magick keeps time above and around and between and within all of _stanheng_.

_lá belltaine _has begun.

* * *

><p><em>vi.<em>

there is fire and laughing and dancing, bodies sliding and arching around each other, fingers slipping through palms and toes biting into grass, grinding stepping pounding in time with the beat of the drums. young maidens clothed in white twirl with flowers in their hair and brazen boys clothed in black spin with animal teeth around their necks. priestesses and priests sprinkle blessed water from the river avon amidst the flames that lick gold and red in the curve of brow and part of lips; water and sweat become one and the same and in the rapidly darkening day, the hills are alive with the sounds of song and dance and _life_.

england and britānnia are at the center of the hive, fingers locking and releasing as they spin into each other only to dart away again, back and forth in time with drums and heartbeats and the breath in out in out of the universe, a constant cycle of here and there and everywhere in-between; the never-ending axis on which existence turns, in creation and birth and the dying of a whisper.

_(energy can never be created or destroyed, only changed in form, like england and britānnia and every soul that has come from the all to experience itself as a little bit different, a little bit less, a little bit more)_

the low call of a bone horn cuts through the reverie, a chain-check and the laughter and chanting drip down into murmurs and pool into a liquid silence that ripples with anticipation.

england and britānnia step lightly to meet the priests lined before the stone altar, and the sun sinks lower still.

* * *

><p><em>vii.<em>

_(fiery sun and shining moon, east, south, west and north | hearken to the ancient rune, hear us now, we call thee forth)_

britānnia scatters water to the south and flowers to the north, england stirs wind from the east and blesses the bonfire, and both of them meet at the altar to join the aether to them all. the sun is almost to the horizon as their voices swirl together like colors on a canvas, painting the sky and earth and all those gathered within _stanheng_ in blessing. the rocks circled around the stone pillars at sunrise complete the holy circle, the five elements invoked at the star-points as the world darkens twilight on_ lá belltaine_.

_(earth, air, fire, water, spirit join them circled 'round | guide us in our rite and prayer, all and one this holy ground)_

the avatars of the god and goddess stand in the center of the stone, wrists tied together by a cloth decorated with the signs of horns and moons and an elaborate pentacle like the one in which the congregation stands. england's right hand is bound to britānnia's left, blessed river water sprinkled on them both and their foreheads anointed in turn. the priest before them holds their sacred chalice, their holy grail, and each holds out an arm to his knife. neither of them wince at the pinprick of metal through skin, tiny rivulets of blood dripping from their fingertips and splashing into the wine beneath them, one at a time. the magick in the air is sizzling with the spark and claws of newfound desire.

_(we bind our hands and blood together, as one this belltaine night | join us anew, god and goddess, in perfect love and perfect light)_

the handfasting cloth is severed and offered up to the bonfire as england and britānnia each drink from the ornate chalice, blood-tang and alcohol heavy on their tongues and in their throats;_ lá belltaine_ calls for wine like no other, infused with herbs and flowers and things to drive men and women dangerous with lust. they must lose their inhibitions and awareness to lose themselves to the minds of the god and goddess they are ready to draw down for their people, duty-bound and ever-willing and the magick crackles bright around all of _stanheng_.

their eyes meet feral and dark, primal beyond reason in the light of the flames and the sun sinking down down into the earth behind the stone altar; the energy around their bodies stirs like the desire within them, raw and wild and eager to tumble in mankind's oldest ritual.

something inside each of them snaps. they lunge at each other, mouths meeting fierce, and it is more than blood that runs through their veins now.

they are england and britānnia, male and female, human and divine, horned god and triple goddess all the same.

* * *

><p><em>viii.<em>

there is something burning and liquid in the way they kiss, tongues and teeth and throaty growls; the beating of the drums and the low chant of the lay around them laps at their ears and will do so until they finish, driving them onwards in their ancient dance.

their kisses clack with tongue and teeth, each fighting for dominance over the other and a completion like no other. england's fingers claw through britānnia's flaxen hair, his nails scraping against her scalp and the sound crackles like fire and magick. she holds him beneath the elaborate robes with one arm and presses his head as close to hers as she can; they part only for gasps of air before diving into one another again, like water from the avon because water is life and cleansing and that is exactly what they are here for.

_(they are here to beget life with their energy, to assume the roles of horned god and triple goddess and in their most intimate union unite body mind and soul in harmony with the earth)_

his nails brush the leather securing her headdress and he quickly moves them away; even blinded by passion and lust and the not-quite-consciousness of half-awareness, england knows he cannot allow the mark of the goddess to leave britānnia's body. she would be lost to the great mother and he to the horned god until they were finished regardless, but for the sake of their people they have a duty to uphold and they wear the horns and moons for a reason.

(if they are to become one with the deities of their people they must do so in soul and mind and body together, in nature and appearance and the will to _be_)

britānnia's tongue has moved from his mouth to his neck, hidden beneath dark layers of ritual cloth that grow ever darker as the sun goes down down behind the stone altar, where the horned god will chase the great mother around the earth as she climbs beyond the stars to guide her children gone. the moon is rising with the goddess and the magick that is no longer within only _stanheng_. both england and britānnia can feel the ancient powers dipping and sliding and worming every which way across their lands, amongst all their people celebrating_ lá belltaine_, and when she slides her tongue across the meeting place of his neck and jaw magick and madness aren't the only things he can feel.

* * *

><p><em>ix.<em>

_(great mother we hearken to thee, where earth and sky meet and meld into the horizon unto forever and ever)_

she undoes the collars and ties binding his robes together, fingers wary of the string of razor-sharp teeth around his neck for all of the primal haze her mind has become. this is not the first time they have been asked to lead _lá belltaine _like this and the both of them know they are too crazed to do anything more than open their robes and have at each other like they are predators on the hunt (and hunting they are, for completion and the energy between them that is already one and they are anxious for their bodies to do the same).

the teeth around his neck spark a heat in britānnia like madness; he is taut and sharp and so fucking _male_and wearing the bones of an animal like the one he has become in union with the horned god. she pushes his robes open and her lips are over his heart, thundering like the energy within and around them and he lets out a throaty, feral growl. the sound spills from her ears like water and trickles down to the sacred place between her thighs, icy hot and leaving her begging for more as the both of them fall to their knees.

england's fingers rip at the ties to britānnia's robes, ceremonial fabric sliding apart to reveal her milky flesh licked gold and hot in the light of the flames that will burn for _lá belltaine _all through the night. he kisses greedily at her skin, teeth scraping her collarbones and tongue leaving a wet and shining trail along her neck. his nose brushes one of her elaborate earrings, warm against him like the rest of her. his hands knead at her breasts, eliciting moans from her throat fashioned primal in the sunset. he flicks her nipples with his thumbs, bringing his tongue and teeth to one of them and she holds him close like a babe suckling in the arms of its mother.

(like the horned god who is birthed from the great mother every year, renewed by her and england does not forget that man is both born of woman and made one with her as well)

britānnia's back arches into his touch as he kisses and licks his way to her other breast, mouth greedy for her skin and his hand fists in her hair to tilt her head to the moon (and when her eyes widen because of his touch she's certain the sky's not the only thing icy with stars).

* * *

><p><em>x.<em>

_(horned father we call to thee in the earth beneath, across star-speckled mountains and borders beyond)_

the sight of england at her breast like a babe in arms slides molten to britānnia's core; he is born of her and nourished by her and she is made whole and new by him in turn. her nails scrape lightning through his hair around the horns of the god, drawing down the sides of his neck and he shivers, his tongue lapping against her salty flesh and she needs _more_.

her fingers tease down his sides beneath fabric of his robes, nails trailing feather-light over his skin and his arms around her back tighten as he presses against her even more. britānnia can feel england hard and ready beneath her, and she shifts her hips against his and cradles his head as she pushes him onto his back. his yelp of surprise is cut off by her mouth over his, hands locking around his wrists to pin him in the shape of the pentacle surrounding all of _stanheng_.

her kisses travel from his mouth to his jaw to the dip between his collarbones, and when her cheek brushes the dusting of golden hair on his chest she growls, tracing it down his sternum with her teeth. his ragged breaths have descended into moans and yelps torn jagged from his throat, and she releases his wrists to feel the sharp jut of bone at his hips. britānnia lowers herself slowly onto him, hot and wet and were it not for his claw-twisted hands and the fire-glistened tears in his eyes she would think england were dying.

* * *

><p><em>xi.<em>

it is heaven and hell and all things in-between and he can barely bring himself to yowl, breath hitching and taut and the earth is gone but for britānnia above him and her hands on his hips and the tell-tale catch in her gasps that lets him know he's not the only one enjoying this. she is statue-still for a few moments; aphrodisiacs and magick and holy union be damned, she will let her body take its course for all the time it needs. she can feel england beneath her, breathing ragged and he is trying not to move for her, trying so hard but even when intoxicated into an entirely different state of mind his breaking point is still there.

britānnia shifts above him, euphoric and ever-willing as he brushes his thigh against hers and she grinds herself down onto the body beneath, around, within her. his robes are fanned out like a field on the stone below them and hers drape down her back, tails and sashes and cords trailing behind her. they are covered in sweat from their own heat and that of the fire but both of them will be damned if they take their hands off of each other for even a second to fling away the ritual cloth covering them.

england moans and writhes under her, arching and bucking and grinding into her body and ever closer to release like he knows nothing else. britānnia is tight and warm and wet and it is more than enough but it still _isn't_, he needs wants begs for _more more more_and he wants to be the one to take her now.

through the haze of his mind he grabs her hands, pulling her forward onto his chest as he sits up. he flips her onto all fours and because she is britānnia she is his other half and she knows what he wants, tilting forward onto her knees as he pushes her robes aside and draws his body down over hers.

(she is on her hands and knees, upper body low to the ground and his nose is buried in her hair and neck and they are like animals in heat, wild and primal and there is no thought, only instinct and the crackle of magick for as far as they can feel)

* * *

><p><em>xii.<em>

one of england's hands tangles in hers as the other snakes down between her legs, and britānnia bucks and arches against him as they move, closer and closer to each other and completion and the energy between them that is already one. his teeth graze her shoulder as he buries his nose into her neck, long flaxen hair slick to her skin with sweat and holy water. she tilts her head back against his temple with a moan; there will never be enough of him within and around her and she is nearly _there _and she wants to touch taste breathe everything she can.

britānnia pulls his hand from between her legs and moves forward, england growling at the loss of sensation as she turns onto her back, legs spread and she beckons him with a snarl and there are no more words and a hand in his hair. he moves cat-like over her and she has him damn near _purring _for her as he grabs behind one of her knees and buries his face in her chest, licking and sucking and kissing and it is all she can do to rake her hands down his sides beneath his robes, nails like claws and they are the animals they have become along with the gods.

his fingers entwine with hers like she did to him in the shape of the pentacle around all of _stanheng_, and ragged breaths and throaty moans are the only sounds above the drums and the chanting; they are words to the great mother and horned father who are renewing the lands beneath them with the energy that begins and ends all of life. england yowls jagged and britānnia moans hitched, sunlight dying through the clouds and stars glittering flashfire like the ones behind their eyes and the magick surrounding them. they move longer still, back and forth and back and forth, meeting but never quite merging into the holy union they are _biting screaming dying _for, until england's hand is between her legs and britānnia's fingers are tangled in his hair and their mouths meet tongue-teeth for the last time-

the sky is dark and the stars are blue but the world behind their eyes is white and glittering, and to love another person is to see the face of god because that is what they are to each other and their people; both of them buck and scream and writhe completion, all and one and everything in-between as britānnia holds his head to her throat and england shudders exhausted above her. she can feel his arms shaking and she pulls him down onto her, hand on the nape of his neck to calm him as he collapses into her arms.

* * *

><p><em>xiii.<em>

the chanting and drumming ceased with their movement and the crescendo of their voices, and the priests and priestesses cry praise and thanksgiving into the night sky, illuminated only by moon and stars and the fire that will burn throughout the night.

england's fir-green eyes meet britānnia's emerald ones, and his kiss is feather-light to her lips, calm and clear as his hand cradles her head like a child. they can feel the magick settling within _stanheng _and across their lands, flora and fauna renewed in their highest act of honor to the gods and the universe and the forces that beget all of life.

they are helped to their feet by the priests and priestesses, their robes around their bodies left undone because nakedness is nothing to be ashamed of (man is born naked for a reason and their bodies are nothing but revered for the life they bring to their people and land).

there are cheers and chants and the dances begin again, feet and hearts pounding in time with the drums and britānnia stands on her toes to press her mouth to england's. she may no longer be the great mother and he the horned father but the gods live eternal within all people, and she traces his painted eyes and cheeks and the teeth circled 'round his neck with reverence like watercolor. his fingers follow the patterns on her eyes and along her cheeks, mingling with the hanging jewels of her earrings and the wheat-strands of her hair. the both of them and all of _stanheng _are bathed in firelight and he presses a kiss to her temple, holding her close.

they are all, they are one, they are the horned god and triple goddess, the bearers of the horns and moons and they will never be anything but duty-bound and ever-willing for their people because they _are _their people-

_as it was and ever shall be, world without end-_

(this _belltaine_ eve as we burn, year wheel take another turn | fire flame and fire bright, bless us on this _belltaine _night)

_amen._

* * *

><p><em>Searesbyrig<em>: old english name for modern city of salisbury

gender separation: it is my headcanon that all nations began with a female and male counterpart, as many ancient societies had some form of dualistic belief in a male-female, light-dark, good-evil, or dualistic representation within a single deity as aspects of the universe; as such, a gender-pair of nations would be complementary; sources for this include the wiki articles on anglo-saxon paganism, germanic paganism, celtic paganism, and wicca (since ffn does not allow links in posts, I cannot provide direct links).

(most of my headcanon for all nations having a gender-duality comes from wiccan belief in the male-female aspects of the universe and the duality of the horned god and triple goddess; it is also part of my headcanon that the ones in the canon are either the ones that survived, or their counterparts are simply not needed, etc.

britānnia: the latin name for the area of great britain occupied by the roman empire until it removed itself from the area. the north of the island was occupied by germanic anglo-saxons (calling the area the old english _engla land_), and the north was know to the romans as _britānnia inferior_ and the south (where they mostly were) as _britānnia superior_; as such, britānnia the character would probably have been found/born south with the roman empire and england would have been found/born north with the germanic anglo-saxons. (the old english dialect shift from _engla land _to england wouldn't've happened for a long time after this fic takes place, though we're not sure when exactly down the timeline it did, but for the sake of writing, let's pretend it had by the mid-500's or so, lol.)

_lá belltaine_: source is the wiki article for Beltane; I have mixed wicca elements in here to fill in the gaps of what we don't know about the ancient _lá belltaine _(horned god and triple goddess, etc.), along with some things I've come up with on my own.

wicca: source is the wiki article on wicca

_Ic ēow þancas dō_: old english plural for 'thank you'; since I've indicated both of them are accompanied and helped out by multiple people, this form would be appropriate since it is plural.

_stanheng_: we know as far back as the 10th century AD that stonehenge was called _stanheng_ in old english (among other names), but we know nothing about any further back; since this fic would take place sometime after 552 AD (when cynric of wessex captured _Searesbyrig _and stonehenge would then be under control for ritual) where old english is spoken at the time, I simply opted to use this name.

the fivefold kiss: source is the wiki article on the five-fold kiss

handfasting: source is the wiki article on handfasting; it can be used for a temporary or symbolical marriage-like arrangement, and since the great rite is a symbolic marriage and joining of the god and goddess, I decided to include it (it's also just an extremely adorable tradition all on its own).

chalice/holy grail: source is the wiki article on the magical tools in wicca; I'm mashing religions together here, since I am a firm believer in spiritual and religious coexistence; an allusion to both the chalice of wicca and the holy grail of legend; is it the real thing? you can decide that for yourself. :P

maiden/mother/crone: source is the wiki article on the idea of the triple goddess (neopaganism); there exists a trifold aspect of the triple goddess (it could apply to many forms of paganism with a triple goddess figure, but I believe neopaganism and wicca are most common, though don't quote me on that). to those who may find the sexualization of the mother-child imagery above odd, I will quote wiki on the cycle of the horned god and triple goddess in wicca:_ the God is born from the Goddess at Yule, grows in power at Vernal Equinox (along with the Goddess who has now returned to her maiden aspect), courts and impregnates the Goddess at Beltane, wanes in power at Lammas, passes into the underworld at Samhain, then is once again born from Her mother/crone aspect at Yule; The Goddess, in turn, ages and rejuvenates endlessly with the seasons, being courted by and giving birth to the Horned God._

the imagery coincides with england and britānnia's knowledge of this entire connection between the horned god and triple goddess; england is symbolically born of britānnia (as man is born of woman) and at the same time the one who enables his own regeneration through the seasons (man assures his own generational succession through woman).

all-one duality/existential themes: very heavily inspired by neale donald walsch's _conversations with god_ trilogy. it is far too long and complicated to explain here, so your best bet as the reader would be to find yourself a copy and read it! it is _highly_ worth your time and is a life-changing set of books all on its own (and I'm speaking from a wonderful experience here)._  
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(apologies for all the line breaks to separate each section; ffn's formatting setup is absolutely horrible and completely useless since most changes, even those made in html, are never properly saved.)


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